


running out of air

by AuroraKant



Series: Winter Whumperland [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth Was Dick Grayson's Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Sometimes you have a mental breakdown and at 4am in the morning, and then you go and call your guardian, while washing the dishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: Deep exhaustion had settled in Dick’s bones, the feeling so constant and penetrating Dick wasn’t sure what exactly he could do to chase it away. He needed to solve these cases – the lives of Blüdhaven’s citizen depended on it – and he had a day job people counted on. He was needed as Nightwing. His brothers and sisters depended on him, and Bruce expected him to be able to carry the Justice League on his back as well…Dick was only human, and watching the snow fall, he knew he could never be more than that.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Winter Whumperland [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053023
Comments: 18
Kudos: 134





	running out of air

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome back!  
> I am back at my bullshit aka torturing Dick! :D  
> Today's prompt was Exhaustion if you couldn't guess 😉
> 
> Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks make me very, very happy! <3<3<3

Dick watched the snow fall.

He would have to get back to work soon, the cases on his desk not solving themselves, but for a moment he allowed himself to just… _watch_. It was surreal, seeing Blüdhaven by night, a thick layer of snow covering all the dirty and foul parts of the city. By morning the snow would have turned to mush, what was left an ugly yellow and grey color – but right now? Right now, it almost looked beautiful.

Deep exhaustion had settled in Dick’s bones, the feeling so constant and penetrating Dick wasn’t sure what exactly he could do to chase it away. He needed to solve these cases – the lives of Blüdhaven’s citizen depended on it – and he had a day job people counted on. He was needed as Nightwing. His brothers and sisters depended on him, and Bruce expected him to be able to carry the Justice League on his back as well…

Dick was only human, and watching the snow fall, he knew he could never be more than that.

Tomorrow was Christmas and Dick was expected at the Manor, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look forward to it. No promise of tasty food and good company could lessen the weight pressing down on his chest. There was so much work that needed to be done before Dick could leave the house… there was so much responsibility pressing down on him.

He had to solve the Miller case at the very least, before the evidence was inevitably lost, and he needed to check up on Magret and Sissie, the two sex workers Dick sometimes paid for information – he had grown quite found of them -, and then… Dick pried his eyes away from the dancing ice crystals to send a cursory glance into the direction of his kitchen.

It was a mess.

He would have to clean up before he left for Gotham tomorrow.

His stomach balled together at the mere thought of cleaning and washing the dishes, but it had to be done… _so much had to be done_. There was always just more work around the corner.

He couldn’t even complain! His boss at the shelter Dick worked at had given him the holidays off – he was free to do whatever he wanted! He could sleep in for once! And yet… it felt as if the workload of having a job was immediately replaced by other duties Dick had to fulfill.

His shoulders ached from carrying all that hypothetical weight.

Okay… he would get up in a minute and then… maybe it would help if he cleaned before he continued his work on the case files? He had excess anxiety bubbling in his veins from all the coffee keeping him awake. Alfred would judge him horribly, if he knew how Dick had been treating himself lately.

Moving would help. Moving always helped.

His joins hurt when he unfurled from his position on the windowsill, his body protesting the constant stress it was under.

He was growing old. He was twenty-seven and his body felt as if it had recently celebrated its seventieth birthday. Creaking joints, aching back – and constant flareups, when Dick could use them the least.

He made his way over towards the kitchen, each step a small battle. He hated washing the dishes – it was worse than folding laundry.

Dick wasn’t a particularly disorganized person. Many people told him over the years, that they were almost frightened by his attention to detail and planning… but whenever exhaustion began to claw on Dick’s insides, and stress built up inside his skull, it was his own home that suffered first.

Freshly cooked dinners got replaced by take out, healthy post-patrol snacks turned into cereal. His dishes became unclimbable mountains, and his laundry basked a dirty sea of clothes Dick had to scavenge each morning in the hopes of finding _something_ that was still wearable. 

Excising like this was painful.

It wasn’t fun – but after getting home from work and getting ready for his night job, Dick just couldn’t force the energy necessary for taking care of _this_ as well.

His hands shook when he reached for the first glass.

He didn’t want to do this.

_He couldn’t do this._

Tears escaped from his closed eyes – when had he closed them? – dripping down his face. They were hot, burning trails of disappointment. He grabbed the sponge laying next to his sink, each motion hard and impossible.

Maybe he had closed his eyes, so he was no longer forced to phase the physical representation of his failure.

He opened his eyes, ignoring the sinner’s fire touching his cheeks.

His muscles strained against his will, and the small light emitted by the kitchen lamp wasn’t enough to illuminate his soul. Dick was just so tired. _So, done_.

How could one light warm his insides? How would one act destroy him like this?

Another tear ran down his face, falling onto the glass in Dick’s hand. Light reflected in the single drop of water gliding down the dirty dish, and Dick wished for darkness. _Or snow_. Snow would hide all the ugliness Dick carried within himself, and it would cover the dirt defiling this apartment as well.

Dick had done his very best to stay strong.

But looking at the glass in his hand, at the crystal tear running down its side, at the sponge unused in his grasp… it was just too much.

It no longer were simple tears that escaped Dick, no, his sorrow had turned into sobs. With shaking shoulders Dick sank down, his knees hitting cold tiles, his head pressed against the white surface of his kitchen cupboards.

 _He was a failure_. Simple as that.

His tears turned into diamonds, his bones were cold as stone… he was falling apart, and yet he could never break. He was Dick Grayson – Dick Grayson wasn’t allowed to fall. He was the one who caught everyone, after all.

The safety net of the superhero community.

It felt wrong to feel light touch his skin, it felt wrong to be physically warm, when his heart was frozen.

His chest shuddered with every breath Dick drew in, his lungs aching with the strain of his sobs. He was crying. Yelling. Screaming. _He made no sound at all_.

Time was liquid as Dick cried, each tear a second, each sob a minute, each thought an eternity away.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t get lost in his sadness like this. There was so much he had to do. There was so much he needed to get done. He was Dick Grayson. Nightwing. Batman’s son. A big brother. A hero. A social worker. A member of the Justice League. A man.

 _A boy_.

Sometimes he was little more than a boy, wishing for his parents to hug him. Sometimes all he wanted was for another person to come along and take all his responsibilities away… Only that wasn’t true either. If Dick could just give up the burden weighting him down, there would be no problem at all. No, it was the fact that nobody could help him carry this pain, that was slowly destroying him.

He should have stayed perched on that windowsill. He should have watched and waited and slowly turned to ice.

Instead, he was crying next to his dirty dishes, destroyed by the fact that one glass had been too much for him to handle. It hurt to fail like this. It hurt to be reminded of his own weaknesses this late at night. Early morning?

Dick had no idea what time it was anymore.

The Miller case laid forgotten on his table and Magret and Sissie were probably wondering where he was… but Dick couldn’t stop the pain seeping from his heart. He couldn’t still the sobs, and he couldn’t quench the thirst for comfort.

He was a helpless victim to his own emotions.

Sleep was a faint memory, the anxiety chasing even the smallest chance of rest away, when Dick finally managed to get up from the floor. _Okay_. So… no dishes. No cleaning. No repairing the world.

But what else was he supposed to do?

What was the next logical step after he had failed again and again?

Dick didn’t want to be alone. He wanted someone to hug him. Someone to tell him it would be alright.

But was he strong enough to actually ask for just that?

His eyes wandered back towards the window, snow still dancing through the streets, falling from the sky. The snowflakes were being illuminated by streetlights, and for some reason it was this sight, this simple idea of light catching in tiny ice crystals, that made Dick decide that maybe, _yes_ , he was strong enough to ask for help. Just this once. Just tonight.

His hand was shaking when he called the Manor phone.

There was one person in particular Dick wanted to talk to. It wasn’t Damian, who should be asleep so he could enjoy Christmas proper tomorrow. It wasn’t Jason, who didn’t even stay at the Manor. Neither was it Cass or Tim or Steph. It also wasn’t Bruce.

No, Dick needed Alfred to pick up the phone.

And the old man did:

“Wayne residence, Pennyworth speaking. I hope you are aware that it is 4am on the day before Christmas, Master Richard?”

“I… I am aware.”

“Oh, my dear boy… what is the matter with you?”

Just hearing Alfred’s voice felt like a Band-Aid for Dick’s fraying nerves. The old man sounded drunk on sleep, and touched by warmth, and Dick could feel himself relax. In many ways Dick was Bruce’s son – Batman and Robin connecting them like nothing else ever could – but Dick wasn’t delusional. He knew that Alfred was just as much of a father to him than Bruce had been.

Alfred had given him so much over the years, had raised him when Bruce had been too preoccupied with finding himself… when Dick felt weak, he would always call Alfred. He would always call him his parent.

Because there was no judgment when Alfred spoke. There was no pain, no hurt, no past harms… When Alfred asked Dick what was going on, Dick wanted to answer because he knew Alfred would understand:

“I… It’s too much, Alfred. Everything is just too much.”

“What do you mean? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No… yes? But only in my head.”

A short pause – and even this moment of silence was full of warmth and unspoken reassurance – and then Alfred answered:

“Ah, yes… these tend to be the worst kinds of pain. The ones we can’t run away from. Why don’t you tell me what is exactly is going on, my boy, and I shall tell you how to sooth your mind enough to sleep.”

It always sounded so easy when Alfred was the one who said it. Maybe that’s why Dick had called him – he knew Alfred would take control of the situation, Alfred would guide Dick for as long as he needed to be helped… and then the old man would give Dick the reigns over his life back and never bother Dick about it again.

“There is so much to do, Alfie. And I have… I only have twenty-four hours a day to do everything. And it isn’t just… saving people. It is casework. Filing data. Cooking. Cleaning… I had… I don’t… I didn’t even shower this past week, because it was showering or actually doing my job. That I get paid to do. I want- I want to do all of it, but my time… there is never enough time or there is never enough me… I don’t know, Alfie… I just don’t know anymore…”

“Shh, my boy, shh. It will be alright. I am sure of it.”

“Will it, though?”

Dick stepped closer to the window; his face reflected in the dark glass. He looked tired. Old. He was only twenty-six.

 _God_ , he was exhausted.

“Yes, it will. And do you know why?”

Alfred sounded so calm, so adult, so sure.

“Why?”

“Because tomorrow you will drive over here, and I will sit you down with a cup of tea, and we will sort through every responsibility weighting you down. We will put them in order – and then I will help you make some decisions. And after that? We will have Christmas dinner.”

“But-“

“No. While you’re on patrol that evening – because God help me, I can’t stop you – I will clean your apartment, and the day after all of us are going to enjoy the celebrations a bit more. One step at a time, my boy. _One step at a time_.”

Dick’s eyes wandered past his tired face and into the night… there was light out there. Not even the darkness was void of hope – not even the Blüdhaven streets lay forgotten under all that snow.

Maybe… _yes_. Maybe this was exactly what Dick needed.

Alfred would… Alfred would help Dick. Would hug him and pull him back on his feet. Would give him a cup of tea, a plan, and an encouraging pat on the back.

“That… that sounds like a plan, Alfie… I’ll drive over first thing in the morning.”

“Let yourself breathe… but don’t be deterred – I am overjoyed to see all of you again.”

Another sob wanted to choke Dick, but this time it was love building behind his eyes and not just pain. This time it was something warm mixed into the sorrow.

“Th-Thank you, Alfie. Thank you so much.”

“Always, my boy. And now rest – know that I am watching over you in spirit.”

“ _Always_ …”

A snowflake danced through Dick’s vision. He took a deep breath. It was easier than before, less weight crushing his chest. And maybe that was all he could ask for. Maybe that was enough.

Maybe there would be a tomorrow.

Dick went to bed – a single glass, a crystal tear, forgotten behind him.


End file.
